Love, Simon – Mainstream Teen Rom-Com, Quietly Radical Queer Center

Sebastian Hart

February 7, 2025

A Studio Teen Rom-Com with a Gay Boy at the Center

When Love, Simon arrived in cinemas, a lot of queer viewers experienced something close to whiplash. Here was a glossy, PG‑13 teen romantic comedy from a major Hollywood studio, using the visual language of straight high school films—locker‑lined hallways, cafeteria crush drama, ferris wheels and school plays—but the protagonist was a gay boy. Not the sidekick. Not the tragic friend. The actual lead, who gets the big romantic payoff in the rain.

From today’s perspective, after years of streaming BL series and indie MM romance films, that might not sound revolutionary. But for a certain generation, Love, Simon was the first time they saw their coming‑out story packaged as something their entire class might watch together on a Friday night. That mainstream positioning is both the film’s biggest strength and its most interesting limitation—and that tension makes it worth revisiting now, as part of any MM romance canon.

Tropes with Training Wheels: Familiar Framework, New Center

Structurally, Love, Simon is a grab‑bag of classic teen‑movie tropes:

anonymous online crush (Secret Identity)
misunderstanding‑driven conflict (Miscommunication / Jealousy Arc)
supportive but clueless straight friends
embarrassing parents who eventually get it right
the public grand gesture at the climax

For readers of LGBT Novel Atlas, you can almost feel the index cards on the writers’ room wall. But the crucial twist is that all of these tropes revolve around Simon’s first love for another boy, not a girl.

The film deliberately softens certain edges:

homophobia is present, but mostly confined to two crude classmates who quickly get disciplined;
Simon’s family is fundamentally loving and liberal, even if they’re slow to notice his struggle;
the stakes are emotional, not life‑or‑death.

For viewers whose real‑world experiences were harsher, this can feel sanitized. For younger audiences, or for parents watching with them, this relative gentleness is exactly the point. Love, Simon functions as a bridge text—a story safe enough for the multiplex that still tells queer kids “you can have a cheesy, ridiculous, happy ending too.”

The Emotional Core: Shame, Isolation, and the Screen in His Hand

Where the film is most honest is in its portrayal of Simon’s interior world. His narration circles the same questions many queer teens know too well:

“Why can’t I just be normal?”
“If I come out, will I lose everything that feels safe?”
“What if the person I like disappears as soon as I’m honest?”

The anonymous emails exchanged with “Blue,” the mystery boy he meets on a school gossip site, capture a particular 21st‑century queer loneliness. Simon is surrounded by people—in class, at home, in his theatre group—but the only place he speaks plainly is behind a screen with someone who might not even live in his city.

The film takes the fantasy of being truly seen through words—a staple of online fandom, letter‑based romances, and epistolary MM novels—and gives it the visual language of teen cinema. We see Simon laugh at his phone, whisper secrets to the glowing screen, and almost drop it in panic when messages pop up at the wrong time. It’s an old trope updated for smartphones.

The Outing Plot: Cruelty and Consequence

One of the most divisive elements in Love, Simon is the outing storyline. When Martin, a classmate, discovers Simon’s emails, he uses them as leverage to try to win over a girl he likes. His blackmail sets off a chain reaction: Simon lies to his friends, sabotages their crushes, and ultimately gets outed to the entire school when Martin panics.

For some viewers, this is the film’s strongest section. It acknowledges that outing is violence, even when performed by someone who claims to be “a good guy.” It shows Simon’s humiliation, anger, and the suspension between everyone knowing the truth but no one knowing how to talk about it. His mother’s quiet speech—“you get to exhale now”—lands because we have watched him hold his breath for an hour.

For others, the swift forgiveness offered to Martin feels unearned. The narrative’s need to wrap things up neatly means consequences are brief; in a more explicitly queer‑targeted film, his actions might have carried more lasting weight. This is one of the places where Love, Simon’s mainstream rom‑com DNA pulls against a messier, more cathartic queer story.

Family and Friendships: Modelling Better Reactions

The film’s treatment of Simon’s family is deliberately wish‑fulfilling. His parents are surprised, a little guilty they didn’t see it, but ultimately affirming. His dad’s awkward, slightly homophobic jokes earlier in the film are addressed head‑on; we see him apologise without defensiveness.

This is not every queer teen’s reality. Yet for parents watching alongside their kids, these scenes quietly model how to do better:

admit you missed cues,
don’t make it about your hurt feelings,
reassure your child that nothing about parental love has changed,
be willing to learn.

Among friends, the arc is a little messier. Simon’s lies—driven by Martin’s blackmail—do real damage, and his friends’ anger is understandable. The eventual reconciliation may feel fast, but it underscores a theme the film shares with much MM romance: coming out is not a solo act. It reshapes whole networks of relationships, not just one person’s self‑image.

The Ferris Wheel: Grand Gesture, Earned or Not?

The climactic scene, where Simon waits publicly on a ferris wheel for his anonymous crush to reveal himself, is pure rom‑com spectacle. It is also a tidy inversion of early‑film dynamics:

at the start, Simon is terrified of anyone knowing;
at the end, he is willing to make himself a spectacle in order to be chosen.

Is it realistic? Not especially. Is it satisfying within the genre? For many viewers, absolutely. The point is not that every queer teen should come out in front of their whole school; the point is that a gay kid is finally allowed to have the kind of over‑the‑top cinematic moment straight characters have enjoyed for decades.

Where Love, Simon Fits in the MM Romance Ecosystem

For a site like LGBT Novel Atlas, Love, Simon is less a pinnacle of queer cinema and more a landmark on the timeline:

Before it came a long history of tragic queer films and indie projects that never reached mainstream audiences.
After it came a wave of streaming originals, BL imports, and YA adaptations that pushed further—into trans stories, non‑white leads, and more explicit critiques of systems.

If you’re building watchlists or writing guides, Love, Simon belongs in the section labelled something like “Gateway Queer Films for Families and Teens.” It’s an excellent recommendation for:

straight parents who want to understand their kids’ experiences,
younger viewers looking for a first, safe MM romance movie,
anyone who enjoys high‑school rom‑com tropes and doesn’t mind a bit of polish.

For seasoned MM romance readers, it may feel light. That’s okay. Its job was never to be the deepest story on the shelf. Its job was to crack the door in the multiplex—so that softer, stranger, and more specific stories could walk in behind it.